


in my head

by M0stlyVoid



Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Butt Plugs, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Secret Relationship, Sexting, Size Kink, hung Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26754370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid
Summary: Sometimes, being a product tester at Wheezes pays off for Harry in major,majorways. Thank Merlin for his brilliant, deviously inventive boyfriend.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Kinktober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948741
Comments: 44
Kudos: 588





	in my head

**Author's Note:**

> trick or treat, smell my feet, [drarryruinedme7's prompts](https://drarryruinedme7.tumblr.com/post/630699403765760000/i-love-every-single-one-of-you-again-im-not) should bring some heat.
> 
> the october 1 prompt for kinktober 2020 is— _anal plug_.

“...and you’re telling me that _nobody_ except the person it’s spelled to can read what’s written here?” Harry asks sceptically, examining the parchment laid out on the counter in front of him. It looks totally innocent—just a standard piece of paper—but Harry’s learned to never go around grabbing up anything George has experimented on without testing it first, no matter how normal it might appear. “That’s incredibly advanced magic—not saying I don’t believe you, but I know for a fact that Mysteries has been trying to work out a secure message delivery system for _years_ now with no success...how does this thing work, exactly?”

George sets a finger next to his nose in a way that was no doubt meant to make him look wise. “Ahh, that would be telling, wouldn’t it? It’s still in the experimental phase, and as we haven’t applied for the patent yet, I can’t risk _anyone_ having the details, not even my very favorite shareholder—you know Zonko’s would, quite literally, kill to get the inside scoop on how I did this before beating me to market with a shoddier version, and I don’t trust them to not be poking around my friends and family with Legilimencers. Rest assured that there’s no Dark magic involved, and the minute the patent’s approved and the secrecy mandates kick in I’ll send the schematics direct to you for final review and approval prior to getting the Ministry’s final sign-off and marketing it.”

Harry sighs, but considering the lengths some of Zonko’s corporate spies have gone to recently, he can’t write George’s extreme caution off as paranoia—one of his part-time staff had been _kidnapped_ in the spring, and even though the Aurors hadn’t been able to definitively link the kidnappers’ finances back to anyone, everybody knew that someone on the board had to have been responsible. “Right, worth a try. So, I can see how this would be valuable for note-taking and the like, but surely that’s simple enough to test—just write something down and show it around for a few weeks, and as long as it appears blank to everyone else, you know it works. What do you need me for?”

George waves his wand, and the parchment slides down the counter, revealing a second piece that had been hidden directly under it. “You’re right, and we already know that part’s working just fine—but they have a few more features than that, Haz, and that’s where you come in. After a parchment has been assigned a reader, it can be linked to other papers—as many as you like—and the messages transmit instantly as soon as you finish writing between them. You just draw a horizontal line when you’re done and it appears on all the other papers. We’re working out a few ways to market this, and some of what we’re doing will be reinforced and sold directly to the DMLE, and we’ll fancy up some and upcharge the shit out of them and sell them to the toffs who have _secrets_ that can’t be shared with the proletariat, but you know I’ve always wanted to revisit a Valentine’s line ever since we discontinued the WonderWitch love potion stuff—so I was thinking, what better than packaging two together and marketing them as a way for lovers to communicate?” His eyes are twinkling.

“That’s...bloody brilliant,” Harry says slowly, thinking about long meetings and missed Firecalls and indiscreet and therefore useless Patronus messages. “Wow, George, that’s amazing. Of course, you _do_ know every wix who’s cheating on their partner is going to snatch these up?”

George waves his hand in the air impatiently. “Oh, who cares? Money is money, even if they’re scum. So, does that mean you’ll help?”

Harry’s about to agree, but stops short. “Wait. Why are you asking _me_? Why not Ron and Hermione, or Ginny and Pansy, or Neville and...well, who _is_ Neville dating these days?”

George frowns for a minute. “Luna? No, that was...is it Hannah? Luna _and_ Hannah? Regardless...I’m asking _you,_ Harry, because there’s an element of secrecy and intrigue inherent in using these parchments, and I thought that’d be right up your alley these days.”

Harry looks at him sharply. George does a pretty good fake-innocent, but Harry’s known him for too long and can see right through it now. “Merlin. I don’t know what you’ve figured out, or how, but please tell me you haven’t said anything to anyone? It’s not...we aren’t…it’s just, we’re still...working through a few details, er, that is, if there _were_ anyone involved, hypothetically, er, I’m sure I’d have a good reason for…” He breaks off and ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck. Shit.

George is laughing at him, the prat. “Godric, Harry, relax. I know _exactly_ how intrusive the family can be, and if my suspicions are right, I _also_ know what some of those _details_ you’re working through are about. I wouldn’t say a word. Honestly, I thought you might enjoy being able to chat with...whoever it is, if there is someone, and know that there’s no chance of anyone else knowing. Like I said, the secrecy aspect is down pat; I need to know how quickly the messages transmit, and how clear the ink comes through. That sort of thing. So, what do you say?”

It doesn’t really take much thinking at all, because George is right, Harry would _kill_ to have this level of security in his conversations with… _someone_. “I’ll do it. Er. I’ll double check with D— with _them,_ and I’ll let you know, but I don’t think it’ll be a problem. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it too.”

“Great! Now, to claim the parchment, you just hold it and say _sigillum,_ that’s the easy part. To link the parchments together is a little trickier—the incantation is _iugo,_ but you have to be in the same room, no more than three feet apart but no less than one, and…”

* * *

Two months later, and Harry’s come to the conclusion that George could probably sell these bloody parchments for the price of _every single Galleon in his main Gringotts vault_ and he’d happily hand the lot over.

He’s been deliriously happy the last eight months, ever since he and Draco finally sat down and _talked_ about their relationship, instead of pretending they were just fucking and it didn’t hurt when the other would take someone else home. The only problem is...well, the _main_ problem, the one that’s causing all the others, is that Draco is still engaged to Astoria Greengrass. _Technically_ engaged, that is. The contract was signed before Astoria even started at Hogwarts, and neither of them are interested in fulfilling it—but, like every magical covenant, there are consequences inherent in simply disregarding the terms without following procedure.

Luckily, Draco’s prestigious law degree and his status as the new rising star in the Prosecutorial department of the DMLE put him in the ideal position to pick apart the wording and unravel the binding the senior Malfoys and Greengrasses subjected their children to, and based on his progress, Harry’s confident it’s only a matter of weeks. But until then, they’ve decided to keep their relationship quiet—from _everyone,_ as hard as it’s been to lie to Ron and Hermione, because if there’s one thing Harry’s learned over the last fifteen years, it’s that the Wizarding world leaks like a sieve, and secrets don’t stay that way for long if even one other person knows, and Harry refuses to be smeared in the press as _the other man_ or a _homewrecker_ or some other hideous epithet. So, until Draco is able to release him and Astoria from their obligations, they have to sneak around.

Frankly, it’s bloody hot. As much as Harry can’t wait to share the source of his happiness with his friends, there’s something about meeting in alleys, and nooners at Draco’s Muggle flat, and clandestine meetups in lavish hotels that really just _does it_ for Harry. With these parchments from George essentially eliminating any communication challenges, Harry thinks he could quite happily carry on this way for months, if needed.

That’s not to say this new way to talk under the radar hasn’t presented its _own_ challenges. Once a few of the hiccups had been worked out—for a while, the ink would transmit so faded as to be unreadable, and there were long delays at mealtimes until George tweaked the spellwork a bit—Draco had taken to the parchments with an almost frightening enthusiasm, and in addition to using them to make plans and checking in to say hi throughout the day, he almost immediately started...well. _Distracting_ Harry.

_If you can make me come with just your mouth in under five minutes when you get to my flat, I’ll rim you for the rest of your lunch hour until you cry._

_We’re going out of town next weekend. Don’t bother packing any clothes—you won’t need any. Well, maybe bring a few of those ties I bought you._

_I didn’t heal the bruises you left on my arse and thighs last night. I can feel the sting whenever I sit down. How long do you think it’ll take until Colton in admin figures out what’s going on and starts panting after me again?_

Harry’s gotten used to being half-hard at work by now, and it’s gotten to the point where just the _sight_ of the parchment gives him a Pavlovian response. He desperately hopes the reaction doesn’t spread to every single piece of paper he sees.

Today, though, it’s already two, and he hasn’t heard anything from Draco, except for a dashed-off _bugger, meetings all through lunch, love you x_ before Harry even made it into the office. He’s using the silence to get caught up on his paperwork, but he can’t help glancing at the parchment every few minutes, just in case he’s missed something.

Finally, just as he steps through the Floo into his sitting room, the parchment lights up with a new message.

_If your day was anything like mine, you’re desperately in need of a little stress relief. I can’t see you tonight, but I left something for you in your bedroom. Get your clothes off and go upstairs._

Harry’s cock twitches in his trousers, and he flushes as he strips even though nobody’s around to see him. Draco insists he loves Harry’s body, but his job at Magical Games and Sports has left him a little less fit than he’d prefer, and it’s just so _hard_ to pull himself out of bed at the weekend to go to the gym when Draco was there, and warm, and had such _wandering hands_.

He makes his way up to the second floor, mind whirling with possibilities. Knowing Draco, it could be anything from a bouquet of flowers up to an escort hired to take care of Harry for the night in Draco’s absence (although Draco hasn’t done that without being there to watch). When he enters his room, though, there’s an unassuming box in the center of his carefully-made bed, with a navy quill next to it.

Harry glances back down at the parchment. _Charm the paper so you can read and write on it while lying down. The quill will write for you if you find your hands are otherwise occupied. Once you’ve opened the box, let me know what you think._

Alright, then. Harry charms the paper as instructed, then sits on the bed and touches the quill, sending it floating in the air to the parchment, poised to write at his command. He opens the box, then sits back and stares.

Inside is—a dildo. It looks Muggle, although if Harry knows his boyfriend, it’s got any number of hidden _enhancements._ But it’s a dark emerald green (of course), decent-sized (though significantly smaller than Draco’s cock), and smooth, with a flared head but no other attempts at realism, which Harry appreciates. A tentative poke reveals it’s made of a firm-yet-pliable material.

He snatches the quill from the air and puts it to the parchment, hesitating as he thinks what to write.

The thing is… He and Draco haven’t done _that,_ yet. He’s had Draco’s cock in his hands and between his thighs and down his throat and sliding between his arse cheeks, catching the edge of his hole with every thrust and taking them both apart each time, and Draco’s fingered him before, but they haven’t had penatrative sex yet. And it’s absolutely _yet,_ because Harry knows Draco would have months ago, and Harry himself is absolutely gagging for it, but—

Well, the thing is, Draco’s cock is...it’s big. There’s no getting around it. And Harry loves it, loves how he can’t close his hand all the way around its girth, loves how when Draco feeds it down his throat it stretches the limits of how far his jaw can open, loves how its length looks against his own when they’re pressed together and Harry has them both in hand and is whispering filth in Draco’s ear. But the one time he’d tried anal sex before getting together with Draco, his partner hadn’t taken the time to prepare him properly, and it had _hurt,_ and he’s been nervous every since.

And he knows Draco doesn’t care, but Harry himself _does,_ he wants to do this, he just hasn’t been able to move past his mental block enough to take the leap. So—

_I’m home and opened the box. What do you want me to do next?_

Draco’s answer comes back almost instantly, and his scrawl is nearly unreadable.

_Lay on your back and put your fingers inside yourself. You should be able to start with two—I spent enough time with my tongue up your arse last night that it should be easy._

Harry shivers at the memory, then gets comfortable, propping a pillow under his hips and planting his feet apart before he slicks up his left hand. Draco’s right—he’s able to slide two in right away, with hardly any of the burn he’s associated with overstretching and imminent pain. He pulls the box within easy reach, then charms the parchment to hover over him and grabs the quill.

_now what_

_Incomplete sentences already? My, my. Keep stretching yourself, but don’t you dare touch your prostate. I want you sweating and twisting for it before you get anywhere near that. You’re going to enjoy this._

Harry groans and releases the quill, balling his hand into a fist instead. Draco’s going to kill him.

He twists his fingers inside himself, scissoring them, feeling the intense clench slowly loosen the more he moves his hand. His free hand is roaming along his torso, lightly scratching at his skin and leaving goosebumps. He’d like to close his eyes and pretend Draco’s there with him, but he doesn’t want to miss any more messages.

After a few minutes, Draco’s wish is coming true—Harry is squirming in place, the pressure no longer enough. He wants to rub over his prostate until he comes, wants to tug on his cock, wants to—wants to add another finger, Merlin, he’s never had three before. Cautiously, he pets his ring finger over his rim, moaning at the stretched feeling.

 _Put the third one in, now. Slowly. Take your time, make yourself want it. You’re going to feel so good, Harry, so_ full.

Gasping, Harry follows Draco’s instructions. Sweat is dripping down his forehead now, and he’s nearly frantic for more. Heat gathers in his thighs, and his toes are curling into the duvet.

_I hope you aren’t touching your cock, Harry._

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, pulling his hand back to his stomach.

_When you feel ready, pull your fingers out and get the toy ready. Use the lube I left in your drawer, not the Conjured stuff—it’ll feel better._

Ah yes, Draco’s _special lube_. It costs an obscene amount and is mail-order only, but Harry has to admit that its sensation-enhancing properties really add something special when they use it.

A few minutes longer, and Harry’s breathing harshly, hips pressing back onto his hand and up into the air, desperate for friction that isn’t there. Gasping, he pulls his fingers free, then scrabbles for the dildo and the lube, dumping nearly half the bottle over it in his haste.

_Start slow, love. Rub the head over your hole. I bet you’re stretched out nicely now, aren’t you? If it were me, though, I’d be making you wait—you’d need four fingers before you were ready for my cock. I’m going to split you open, Harry._

“Ahgod,” Harry hisses, pulling his knees further apart and pressing the toy’s head against his hole. He’s tempted to shove it all the way in, anything to fill the empty ache, but he’s kept his head enough to know that would be a mistake.

_Are you thinking about it? I know how much you love my cock, Harry—you can’t keep your hands off it. You’re so desperate to choke yourself with it, I can only imagine how you’ll be when I’ve got you pinned on your stomach and I’m rubbing myself against you but won’t fuck you yet. Do you think I can make you scream? Do you think I can make you beg?_

Whimpering, Harry starts to push the toy into himself, and as he steadily sinks it further in, he briefly closes his eyes in bliss. He can’t believe how _good_ it feels, filling him like this.

_Tell me how you feel, Harry._

Reaching up with his right hand, Harry strokes a trembling finger down the spine of the quill, which flutters gently and puts its nib to the parchment. “Fuck,” he gasps. “Draco, _fuck,_ it’s halfway in and it’s not enough, I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait, I need it, I can’t stop now, I wish it were you. Done.”

The quill slashes a horizontal line across the paper and the text disappears. Harry pushes the toy further in, eyes trained on the parchment.

 _Jesus, Harry. That’s so hot. I can picture you squirming on your bed, sweating and swearing and fucking yourself. God, I wish I could be there. I’m in a meeting, did I tell you that? We had to stay overtime today, and I’m sitting in the back because this isn’t even my case, and I’m hard enough to cut diamonds. Colton keeps looking at me. Do you think if he knew how hard I was he’d come over here and suck me off in front of everyone? I think he would. Put it all the way in, and when you’re ready, say_ Angulo.

Harry squeezes his eyes shut at the image Draco painted for him, and slowly inches the dildo the rest of the way in. When its flared base is flush to his arse, he drops his hand to the duvet and breathes. He’s so _full_. He can’t believe how good this feels. “ _Angulo,_ ” he whispers, absently noticing the quill jot that down, but he’s almost immediately distracted as the toy inside him is suddenly pressing directly onto his prostate.

His vision fuzzes and sparks around the edges, and the blood rush in his ears almost deafens him. He’s talking, he knows, but he has no idea what he’s saying, because the sudden, unrelenting pressure on his prostate when he’s so worked up is enough to tip him directly over the edge, and Harry shouts into the quiet of his room as he comes, completely untouched.

“Oh bloody _fuck,_ oh god, oh god,” he whines, shaking as he comes down. “Ahhh, fuck. Fuck. Oh my _god_. Fuck, that’s good.” Finally, he’s recovered enough to slowly pull the toy out of him, tossing it to the side before he rolls over onto his stomach and screams into his pillow as the last of the adrenaline from his orgasm leaves him.

A light brush down his shoulder sets him to shivering again, and he glances back to see the quill hovering over him expectantly. The parchment has writing over three-quarters of it, and Harry groans out “Done,” hoping as the text disappears that he didn’t embarrass himself too much.

The paper remains blank for a while, long enough for Harry to cast cleaning charms over himself and the toy, pack it back into the box, put his pyjamas on, and lean back against his pillows, angling himself carefully to minimise discomfort.

Just as he’s deactivated the purple quill and located a book to put the parchment on and a biro, Draco finally writes him back.

 _I had to excuse myself to wank in the men’s after reading that. Bloody hell, Harry, that was unbelievable. Colton_ definitely _knows what I was doing, by the by._

_I hope you’re not too sore. I’ll come for breakfast tomorrow and bring a salve that should help with any discomfort you’re feeling. I can’t believe how hot that was; I had hoped, but my god, Harry, if that’s how you get every time, I should record you and sell it. What do you think of that idea?_

_If you can, take tomorrow off work. If it’s too late and you’re not able to, I understand, but I’ve got some good news, and I’d like to spend the day celebrating with you if possible._

_You’re amazing. Draco x_

Harry smiles, a tendril of hope crawling up his spine. He grabs a spare bit of paper from his bedside table and scrawls out a sick note, keeping it purposely vague and noncommittal—he’ll Floo it to his boss in the morning.

If this _good news_ is what he thinks it is, he might need the whole rest of the week off, too.

**Author's Note:**

> this was not beta-read, so if you spot any typos or egregious grammar issues, please let me know.
> 
> my tumblr is [here](https://bonesliketambourines.tumblr.com/post/630824672880181248/kinktober-day-1-in-my-head/).


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